


The Scarlet Masquerade

by WBAD_World



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dark Fantasy, Drama & Romance, F/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WBAD_World/pseuds/WBAD_World
Summary: Shirley loved it all: the masquerades, the festivities, the weddings, and the monarchy. There is no room for darkness in her perfect little world. But nothing is as it seems. Your life is a lie. Romance is tragedy. And your prince of light is a demon in disguise.
Relationships: C.C./Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia, Shirley Fenette & C.C. & Milly Ashford, Shirley Fenette & Milly Ashford
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	The Scarlet Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I have a thing for Lelouch and C.C. being secret lovers, and for Lelouch being a part of the monarchy.  
> Also, I just really had the urge to mess with Shirley. I'm sorry… XD But not really… lol

Shirley stood in awe — thoroughly overwhelmed at every sight, and at every sound. Such opulence was close to unheard of, after these long and treacherous years. To see it displayed in full now, was enough to leave anyone in the room bewildered.

Floors of polished and veined white marble. Walls coated in rich ivory, the monotony splintered apart by floor to ceiling windows gilded in gold. Rich velvet drapes of scarlet and purple — ever so slightly parted to welcome the celestial being's nourishing beams.

There she stood, still far from the center of the grand ballroom, feeling slightly self-conscious at such a lavish occasion. As men strut past in fine gentlemanly suits, with a lady or two hanging from an arm, dressed to the nines in gowns made of every rich fabric she could identify off the top of her head. With delicate flutes pinched between their dainty fingers, both men and women never bothered to hold back, and easily partook in the festivities.

They crowded around buffet tables laden with food. The extravagance of each dish only overshadowed by the presence of a crystal bowl filled to the brim with thick red liquid.

Choosing to ignore whatever would be in the latter, she turned from the macabre display to focus on something less grotesque instead.

The innumerable chandeliers suspended from the ceiling provided plenty of light, made brighter still with the addition of hundreds of candles lit behind glass lamps. There were also plenty of flowers. _White_ roses and delicate irises, housed in lavish vases at quantities that were only ever present in her wildest dreams.

So many roses… Their petals littered the black and gold carpet beneath their feet.

And she guessed the question must have been in her eyes as she felt the lightest of touches at her elbow. Turning to see Milly's smile, her friend seemed to watch her carefully. Perhaps out of sympathy or something else, Shirley wasn't quite sure.

She could barely focus on one thing right now…

"White roses and blue irises are their Royal Highness' favored flowers."

Oh… _Oh_ …

That explained the quantity of the blossoms, and the artful manner in which they were arranged.

Atop the dais, at the very _far_ end of the room, sat the newly-weds. The bride easily outshone every other lady in the grand room, as she rightfully should. Her husband with his charming smile and golden locks of hair amiably smiled at passing guests and friends who came to bid them congratulations. And blessings… _Plenty_ of blessings and peace for the age to follow after their marriage successfully closed the centuries' old Blood Wars.

They made a charming couple. Though she knew everyone else was just grateful for the permanent truce and relieved that the war had ended.

"They do make a charming pair, don't they?" Shirley found herself saying.

"Yes, they do." Her blonde friend sighed dramatically beside her, pretending to fan herself with a hand covered in red lace. "Just as you and your future Prince would be should your Mother cement the deal."

At the mention of a _prince_ , Shirley abruptly tore her curious gaze away from the pleasant couple at the dais to stare at Milly incredulously. She _wasn't_ supposed to speak of such things, lest other inhabitants heard. Besides, it wasn't like her future betrothal to a certain prince was already set in stone anyway. It was _being arranged_ , and that was that.

No one need know yet, lest the engagement fell through and she'd risk her mother's ire for embarrassing her family name.

"Milly, _please_."

"Oh, Shirley, you need not be so uptight." Milly tittered behind a hand, efficiently steering Shirley away from her view of the newlyweds. "It's _practically_ a done deal. Who would say 'no' to you? You're so bright, and charming, and…"

With every compliment Milly listed off, Shirley's cheeks grew redder and redder, until she was positive she could rival the so-called drinks being served on flutes. The very sight of it still made her uneasy, but she sincerely tried her best to, at least, stomach it. Her friends were doing a great job veiling their revulsion for such beverages, and so should she.

And if she _did_ somehow end up marrying into the royal family someday, she figured she'd have to get used to it. Because afterward, she would have to be responsible for ensuring her future husband's survival and sustenance. Wasn't that right?

"Prince Schneizel would become your brother-in-law."

Both Shirley and Milly turned at the sound of her voice. C.C. had been quiet for most of the evening, dutifully participating in the toasts and aimlessly touring the grand ballroom with Shirley and Milly, just like a good nobleman's daughter should.

Lost to her own thoughts about a future wedding, Shirley's own practiced observance took a backseat, effectively missing the way C.C. went through the motions of the wedding party, as if she were merely forcing herself to spend another minute in their company. So lost into fantastical imaginings of her husband and this lavish ballroom was she, that Shirley failed to notice the slightest changes in her friend's facial features whenever she so much as mentioned this future husband of hers.

The conversation continued towards the nature of this so-called future husband, about how unusually cordial and gentle he was for a man of his disposition. How handsome he was with his father's violet eyes and his mother's locks of raven hair. She'd had the pleasure of meeting him once, Shirley said, and _my_ , he had a beautiful smile.

And such _charisma_ … It was going to be the death of her.

Amused, C.C. quietly listened to it all…

Because as much as Shirley wanted to deny that she had feelings for her prospective future-husband, the sentiments were _there_. Anyone close to the girl would undoubtedly notice. Milly did. And she, C.C., did too.

The 11th Prince was Shirley's _dream_. Never mind the fact that she'd only met him once, and had barely conversed with him too. Her friend was the very definition of a smitten maiden. And in her naivete, chose to disregard the dangers that came with associating oneself with creatures the likes of the royal family.

"Do you think he'd make an ideal husband?" Was the quiet murmur that snapped C.C. out of her own reverie.

"You met him once, didn't you?"

"Yes, but _only_ once. I can't exactly spend time with him everyday if there's no formal engagement yet. He's always occupied too."

"Oh, I'm sure he spares a thought for that lovely redhead he met once."

No… No, he wouldn't.

C.C. resisted the urge to say that. It would do more harm than good to trample on a sweet girl's dreams. Milly wasn't helping either. Just constantly feeding Shirley's need for romantic validation. Besides, if she gave Shirley _and_ Milly honest opinions, it would just invite unwanted questions.

Questions that required certain answers, and would inevitably poke holes into a web that had been intricately woven.

Because if they asked, she _knew_ she had answers.

She _knew_ and _understood_ this 11th Prince. Perhaps more than any other… As petty as it sounded, she knew him more than Shirley ever would.

It was laughable. How she, Cera Caraverre, had the _audacity_ to covet a man on a pedestal. For all her proclamations of being above jealousy, she fell prey to those green and twisted vines anyway. She might be better at hiding it, but she was no different from the average woman too.

She had a beating heart… Had _feelings_ that only lacked public acknowledgment.

Was it wrong to feel possessive of _her_ lover?

But well… Speak of a man, and he shall appear.

"A Prince approaches…"

Milly's voice was hushed, reverent. She murmured her words loud enough for both C.C. and Shirley to hear. But a quick glance over her shoulder smoothly confirmed that Milly was right. A Prince _did_ approach, and it was with some mild amusement that C.C. watched the redhead from the corner of her eye, fidgeting and fretting with the skirts of her gown — trying to look _even more_ presentable.

There simply wasn't time to do any more…

The moment he stepped within three feet of them, all three curtsied with the utmost grace. One did it out of actual respect for a member of the family that ruled over them all; the other did so for the sake of keeping up appearances. And the last one had done it in a bid to show his Royal Highness that she was a lady of grace and elegance — never mind the clumsiness that plagued her in the privacy of her own room.

"Enjoying ourselves, Ladies?"

Living up to Shirley's stories, Prince Lelouch vi Britannia flashed a disarming smile. All three caught the brief view of the telltale canines glimmering underneath the collective light of the flickering flames.

Taking the initiative, Shirley immediately agreed, trying her best to not to trip over her own words or her own two feet as her future husband-to-be graciously listened and paid heed to what she had to say.

Disinterested with his political and mundane affairs, the Prince's secret lover subtly turned away, fixing her attention on something else other than the beautiful male engaged in discourse with her two friends. The conversation didn't linger for very long as he invited each one to dance — as obligation dictated.

Positively gleeful at the chance to bond with Prince Charming some more, the love-struck one in the group didn't hesitate to say, 'yes.' For a moment, both Milly and C.C. contented themselves to watch until Milly mentioned needing to visit the powder room. The blonde had invited her to join, but C.C. declined and chose to be a momentary wallflower, not particularly minding her friend and her lover twirling so amicably across the dance floor — in tandem with the other couples who took to waltzing.

What a deceptively magical night it was…

If an oblivious observer chanced upon looking in through those large glass windows, they'd be forgiven for mistaking the occasion as one of happiness and complete innocence. Not tainted at all by the blood shed during the War that had just ended. As if tonight's wedding celebration was in any way genuine.

Absorbed in the chatter of the nobles and their partners, C.C.'s own vigilance failed her, and she was startled after she completely missed the swift shadow that smoothly glided to a stop beside her.

There, he stood with his commanding presence. The very air around him shifted and danced, bowing to the whims of his person. It was impossible to deny how his presence affected her so.

"Your friend is rather cheery. And _so_ optimistic." Was the first thing he said after he had returned to her side when his little dance with Shirley had ended. The latter of which had followed after her mother beckoned.

His tone so nonchalant. So _blasé_ …

"It's one of her best qualities."

He barely looked winded. Not a sheen of perspiration or a single blemish marred that immaculately pallid face. As if he had done nothing more than sit leisurely all this time. But of course, this kind of composure was expected.

His kind wasn't subject to physical weariness… A different sort of exhaustion plagued him instead. An exhaustion that ran several centuries deep.

"Shame her mother insists on tying her hand to mine in marriage." A ghost of a smile crept across those sensual lips, as a careful eye watched over the retreating back of his previous dance partner. "She would have made a better match for some other nobleman who fancy women of her temperament."

Shame she was not his type, went unsaid.

"Have you declined?"

"Your sudden interest in political marriages tonight confounds me. Jealous, Cera?" The teasing lilt multiplied threefold, as he gently brushed a gloved hand over her bare shoulder.

C.C. didn't appreciate Shirley overtly flirting with her lover, but she figured she could forgive the other woman.

Shirley Fenette didn't know what Lelouch vi Britannia was to Cera, after all. C.C. would have _gladly_ told her friend, but she didn't out of respect for her lover's wishes. For the moment, Lelouch didn't want others to know about _them_. The political climate was too fragile and unstable, he said. And he feared that any news that could affect their Realm differently wouldn't be taken so kindly.

Although, his provocative actions tonight would _certainly_ be misleading, should the wrong eye catch them and their subtle flirtations.

"Where have _you_ been all night?" She asked under her breath, ignoring the way a passing woman took a long side-glance at her, conversing with the esteemed Prince.

It was true though. After the brief ceremony that brought together man and wife, her devious Prince had somehow vanished. He wasn't around when one of his elder brothers called for a toast to the newlyweds. And he certainly didn't make an appearance when the orchestra began its first musical set for the night.

She was granted the view of his notable canines again as he grinned, lightly touched her elbow, leaned closer, and murmured into her ear. "Do you want to know?"

His proximity invited shivers to skitter down her spine. Knowing that he was just inches shy of touching her bare arms. In a bid to veil her body's treacherous response to his actions, C.C. simply cocked an eyebrow in challenge.

Taking the expression on her face for what it meant, mirth graced his otherworldly countenance.

Without a doubt, he'd tell her… But before he would, he wanted something in compensation for the betrayal of such a secret first. It was only right, wasn't it?

Making fair trades…

_Dance with me_ , those violet eyes said… A dance for the answer to her question.

She would have shaken her head at the thought of _why_ he would even consider her saying 'no.'

But of course, how could she deny the charms that had every noble lady tripping over their dresses? How could she deny the wishes of the love of her life?

vVvVv

Men and women twirled around and around across the expanse of the marble floors, moving in perfect sync to the melodies pulled from strings and woodwinds. As one, the collection of bodies glided, spun, and dipped.

Patiently, he waited. And when a break in the music occurred, he flawlessly brought them in.

The dancers kept dancing in an unperturbed fashion. None thrown off at the sudden addition of a pair, although some _did_ make more than enough room for the Prince and his lady when they recognized him.

Lelouch vi Britannia ignored them all… Deaf to the whispers that fluttered by, blind to the curious stares by family members at the back of his head, and oblivious by choice to the longing gazes of more than one shy noble woman in the crowd. All that mattered — all that could _ever_ matter — to him was in his arms now.

And how could he ever think of tearing his eyes away from this dark goddess that so enraptured him and his withered senses?

Carefully and with absolute precision, he guided her through the learned steps, surrendering themselves to the rise and fall of the rhythm of the waltz. She followed his lead — like two parts of only one body. Stepping where he stepped, spinning slowly when he prompted, gliding effortlessly across the glistening floors — moving with the grace of a stream's calm waters.

One melody slid into another; as one dance ended, another began — encompassing the next and then the next and the next. Until time only seemed like an illusion, and the crowd of fellow dancers were naught but meaningless noise in the little world they had created.

No words to be said…

It was just in the way her bullion eyes reflected a love and a longing she had long sheltered. It was in how he fixed those near unnerving violet eyes on her. The way he held her in his arms… The way their fingers interlocked — the chill of a winter morning on his skin. As the notes rose and the music descended into a nigh dramatic interlude, he'd subtly pull her closer. Until every inch of space was abandoned and his lips brushed the corner of her jaw.

Until the urge to touch and intertwine grew ever stronger…

Their secret language.

One learned after countless dances underneath a full moon. After countless nights spent in one another's company. All those times when she stayed in his arms to hear forgotten tales of old. All the times when he simply closed his tired eyes and listened to the sound of her voice.

Breaking sync with the others as they slowly stopped so she could catch her breath, he intently watched her face. Gazed at the slight flush on her cheeks from all the movement; at the way her chest slowly rose and fell with each shallow breath; at the delicately parted lips painted a lovely peach.

She was beautiful. And alive… Blood rushing delectably in her veins.

Such an irresistible and intoxicating combination.

There was barely an inch of space between them. And though logical sense screamed at her to put a respectable distance, she refused to. She just _didn't want to…_ He smoothed his thumb over her knuckles, as their lips brushed and he whispered the invitation that called to her inmost being — the one that clamored for his presence night and day.

"Come with me…"

vVvVv

"You've done remarkably well, child. I couldn't be happier."

She crowed underneath her mother's praise, her spirits lifting from the generous words the woman showered upon her. And it remained so even when the woman who bore her had ushered her back into the dim yet tastefully lit ballroom, leaving her with encouragement to push further. Just a few more chance conversations; perhaps a little flutter of the eyelashes here and the softest of familiar touches there. A little more flirting and her Prince was hers.

Shirley cared not for her parents' fanciful ambitions of a higher rank in nobility. But she _did_ dream of true love.

She _dreamed_ of days that would linger on and on, time spent caring for this newfound love. She didn't know himwell _yet_. But that could be remedied with time, couldn't it? He was a _monster —_ to _some_. But she was a firm believer that everyone could change. Perhaps she could coax his immortal heart of glass and stone out of eternal stasis.

Breathe life into a heart that had stopped beating eons ago.

How _old_ was he?

He looked young — appeared as if he was fresh out of his boyhood years. A deceptively youthful face, yet very comely. Twas a face that many — like her — coveted.

But humans were humans. And the immortal rulers were, well, fallen gods in this blood-soaked Realm.

"Milly, have you seen C.C.?" Shirley craned her head this way and that, searching for the telltale sign of green hair bobbing through a crowd of socializing elites.

"I haven't a clue. I've just returned."

Shirley ignored her friend. She needed to _tell them both something._ She was _bursting_ to tell Milly, but she couldn't really do that if C.C. weren't around.

"Why are you— Shirley?!"

Filled with an odd sense of urgency, she clutched at her skirts as she hurried across the ballroom. Delicately curled locks of her hair bounced around her shoulders as she squeezed through tightly formed circles and ducked past the servants carrying fresh fillings to the banquet tables.

Because she _caught_ C.C… Caught her slipping away from the crowd through a door that led outside that Shirley didn't know was there. And with her was the Prince. She _could_ admit that he was the reason she abandoned Milly in a flash. Curiosity burned in her being and envy reared its ugly green head, in spite of her struggles to quiet her more aggressive emotions.

What was C.C. doing with _her_ Prince?

What could she possibly want with him? Or rather, on account of him holding her hand, what did _her_ Prince want with C.C.?

Did they have some sort of accord? Or was he—

No. _No_ , he could not have.

Shaking her head, Shirley desperately rid her thoughts of dark implications. All of them involved C.C. offering her blood to him for sustenance. Or maybe it was the other way around? Was _he_ intentionally holding her hostage in his thrall, so he could _feed_ on her?

But he wouldn't do _that._ Those were actions carried out by his more hostile cousins. For so long, she had beheld this family that ruled over them all to be benevolent and generous and only fed on willing donors. Or at least, that's what they were _led_ to believe.

Still, her Prince was so _kind_ in spite of his _natural_ inclinations… He could never—

_Oh, but what if he is?_

Shirley studiously kept the fleeing couple in her sights, doing her best to remain undetected. All the while, she worked to silence the sinister voices in her head that her Prince Charming was actually a demon. No matter how much he tried to disguise his darkness with pleasantries and charitable acts towards his subjects, he was a creature of darkness disguised in tainted light.

He and his family simply being kind so _they_ , the mortal ones, could continue beholding House Britannia as gods — immortal protectors and providers. They've deemed themselves so for centuries. In exchange for protecting man against what lay beyond the freshly restored walls, the payment was a human life.

_But they take willing donors… They take the ones who_ want _to die a quick and painless death — albeit a bit macabre._

_No matter_ … If he was being unseemly, she'd merely separate the monster from the man. _Figuratively_. Shirley vowed to teach him to _respect_ human consent. Or better yet, perhaps she could wean him off of human blood forever. Perhaps animal blood was a good alternative.

_If_ he was feeding off of C.C., that is…

But Shirley didn't want that either… Because if C.C. was his source of sustenance, then that meant—

Making her way through the brush, she silently cursed the exposed roots and weeds that tore at the delicate fabric of her specially-commissioned gown. She was sure of the dirt staining the very ends of the fabric at this point, but it paled in comparison to how important her thoughts of him were.

She didn't want to shatter the grotesque saintly image she had of him…

But the farther she followed her friend and her Prince through the shadows of the untamed woods, the more this perfect image of a model monarch she crafted began to crumble before her very eyes.

Before long, the woods began to thin, until Shirley found herself hiding between two cypress tree trunks, ignoring the rough bark that scratched the delicate skin of her palms and fingers. How could she focus on her hands when _this_ … _this nightmare_ was unfolding before her.

A nightmare that crushed her heart to a pulp.

Cloaked in moonlight and shadows, the _lovers_. (Yes, they were _lovers_ , she now realized), stood underneath an old and crumbling stone arch, crawling with vines and choked with weeds. Shirley hadn't given much thought to C.C.'s attire when the masquerade and the wedding had unfolded, but now it was all beginning to make sense.

Prince Schneizel's wedding was the perfect picture of accord and good will between an immortal and a lowly human — albeit highly regarded by her other human peers. It was all flourishing white roses and irises, with a tiny touch of darkness that the damned could never seem to part with. But it was… solemn. If she didn't know any better, Shirley would have mistaken it for a wedding she had grown up knowing. The matrimony was built on vows and solemn promises.

But _this_ … This sight that lay before her was sacrilegious, but so fascinating at the same time. The latter still did not erase the horror she felt and did not calm the acidic taste of something wretched crawling up her throat.

Like a mockery of today's event, secret bride and groom were clad in black. Intertwined around one another like serpents in a mating dance. Wind whipped at them both, but they hardly noticed.

And _how could they_?

The Prince hadn't even noticed Shirley and she was standing _right there_ , with her thundering heartbeat and her shallow breaths — feeling more and more faint the more she watched _her friend_ and her… her _intended_ engage in affairs that were meant for closed bedroom doors.

She wouldn't call it a wedding… It looked more like a ritual, truth be told.

_A dark, twisted, and blasphemous ritual._

It was not long-winded or wordy, but the actions exchanged stole the breath from Shirley anyway. It crushed any hope she'd had of ever marrying this Prince as well.

Like a maiden, she watched C.C. lean into him — _welcome_ him into her arms. As a servant obeys the whims of his master, Shirley watched her friend submit to her Prince, tilting her head back gracefully to give him as much access as he needed. And as if they'd done this one too many times in the past, Shirley caught herself trembling as she witnessed something she never truly wanted to see in her entire life.

A flash of a canine and then red… Dark glimmering red stained the bride's pale flesh. It trickled in rivulets, pooling above her collarbones. Her face was pallid but strangely blissful as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself closer to him — as if the two weren't close enough already.

Heartbroken yet obsessed, Shirley continued to watch. If she was going to suffer through this malicious sight, then she _refused_ to look away. She wanted the details — if only so she could speak the truth to the right people when _this_ would come out. Because people were going to know eventually. And Lelouch's family _would not approve_.

He didn't care about that now though, obviously. He seemed so famished… Well and truly parched and lusting for blood. Her _friend's_ blood.

vVvVv

Hot and heavy, her exquisiteness coated his tongue and brought him a high he'd never imagined in a millennia-old existence. What made it sweeter was her unyielding offering. At this very moment, it was all that mattered.

Not the fierce whip of the cruel wind; nor the whisper of disturbed trees and shrubbery. He was deaf to the existence of another pounding heart just meters away (which he would have noticed had he been paying attention), and blind to the repercussions of their ritual.

Was it wrong to take something you wanted after centuries of generosity and sacrifice?

No… No, it wasn't.

The reassurance was in the way her arms were wound around him, delicate fingers finding places in his hair as he partook in the act that _bound_ him to her by blood — while satiating his thirst as well. He knew that she knew… He suspected this was why she was being so willing and compliant. Because she wanted his pleasure, just as much as he delighted in tasting her perverse desires.

From the moment he'd met her, her blood _sang_ to him — _called_ to him. As mad as it sounded.

It took every ounce of willpower to draw away, reassuring his beastly urges that he would have a taste of that lusciousness again soon — when she permitted it. (And she truthfully did permit him a lot, though this was the first time he'd feasted on so much and was _still_ drunk with bloodlust). He would never stoop so low as to endanger her life. His Witch's ancient blood was precious, but more than that, he loved her above all — as _twisted_ as it was to say and think.

She was smirking at him haughtily when he withdrew, even when she looked a little drowsy from the fresh feeding. He returned it with an equally dastardly smile as he brought his pale wrist to his lips, seamlessly ripping pale flesh with deadly teeth to release blood that ran as black as pitch.

His new bride was slow to respond to the offering, no thanks to his feasting. Black blood pattered on the rocks and stained fresh green grass as he told her to hurry before the laceration closed on its own.

Like a connoisseur savoring what he delighted in best, he watched greedily as _she_ drank from him. She didn't do it by halves either. Her pale throat — confined in a lavish necklace he'd given earlier in the evening — bobbed as she drank. As she let the acrid and bitter taste of him into her body. Others would have been repulsed… But not her. She, who had promised herself to him from the moment they found their twisted love.

Satisfied with what she'd consumed, she pulled back and met his piercing gaze through the pale moonlight. Lips painted red and black slowly drew close, as the lovers (now eternal partners) acknowledged their desires; sharing in a fresh kiss that completed the ritual — binding this bloodthirsty demon to his witch.

More than a lover now… Let the still rocks, the whispering fauna, the hissing wind, and the roaring sea bear witness as two have become one, bound in flesh, blood, and soul.

His bride — his _wife_.

A bloody war has ended, and a sinister revolution was about to begin…


End file.
